My husband and I stand to leave, the allotted 30 minutes over almost as if they had never happened. So much to explain in such a short amount of time, we feel rushed and wonder if we really got through... through to Sam's teachers who will now be in the...

From our kitchen I could hear the diesel engine roar and the chassis squeak as the school bus rounded the bend of the otherwise quiet street leading to our corner. Monday through Friday during the school year, these familiar sounds were my cue to spring into action -- to get...

The butterflies in my stomach began fluttering the second I opened the email...

Hi Leslie, My name is Erica, I'm a producer on The Jeff Probst Show, a new daytime talk show. We've been reading about you and your blog, and were wondering if you would be interested...

With embarrassment I admit that I used to be prejudiced. Based on where people lived or what their political affiliation, religious denomination or age group was, I had preconceived notions that placed them in neat little boxes. You're from the South? You must be closed-minded. Over the age of 75?...

"Please, oh, please," I chanted out loud as I stared at the envelope with the Minnesota Department of Motor Vehicles return address in the upper left-hand corner. Sam would not be home from school for another 30 minutes, and I knew I could not possibly wait that long. After a...

"When did you know for sure?"

Everyone we meet wants to know the answer to that question when they hear we have a transgender child, some because they want to calm unspoken fears about the possibility that their own tomboy daughter or feminine son might be gender-variant, perhaps, but most...

All across the country parents are busy getting their kids ready for summer camp, reviewing what-to-bring checklists and making last-minute dashes to the store to buy must-have travel-size containers of toiletries that they they know deep down their child will never use. I'm not one to gamble, but I am...

In my defense, I was still in a state of denial. Well, sort of. Sam was 10 years old, and deep down we knew what we were dealing with; we just hadn't said it out loud that often, and when we did, it was only between my husband and me....

"I'm not right," my old-souled 8-year-old child says upon discovering that our weathered mailbox sits empty yet another day. With a classmate's birthday party on the horizon, we wait anxiously for an invitation that never comes. These words, simple yet profound, slice through my flesh, piercing a hole in my...